


Light Up

by ofvanity



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Daddy Kink, M/M, No Beach Divorce, Painplay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-11
Updated: 2011-12-11
Packaged: 2017-12-20 07:33:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofvanity/pseuds/ofvanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Come see what I found</i>, the text said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Light Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [everhaunting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/everhaunting/gifts).



> Pre-transformation, pre-Cuba.

Come see what I found, the text said.

Hank is still for a moment, assessing the view before him. There is an entirely realistic possibility that he’s dreaming, that this is a dream and he’s dreaming it. He’s only been dating Sean for a few months, assuming, that is, that they’re dating, that dating is the word for it. If there is such a word to convey the idea of rushing into hasty sex then masking it by forming a quasi-relationship, then that would be the word for what they’re doing.

Dreaming is definitely a possibility. Sean wouldn’t be so daring, so frank about something like this, he likes to play coy, he would play this coyly--Hank closes the door behind him louder than he intends to. Sean does play coy, all the time, and this is, quite possibly, the epitome of coy.

He bats his eyelashes up at Hank, pretty blue eyes smiling mischief. He’s not entirely sure how but he already knows the game--there’s a game between them, maybe it’s always been there--and he’s not dreaming, he’s playing it.

“Sean,” he begins slowly, anticipation stirring up in his body. “Did you get sent to my office again?”

Sean’s eyes flutter enthusiastically, “Afraid so, Father.”

Hank deposits his paperwork on a nearby chair and shrugs his lab coat off, draping it over the back of the chair. “And what have you done this time to warrant my attention? I’m a very busy man you know.”

“I’ve done nothing, sir, the sisters just have it in for me. Must be all my charm,” he returns, running a hand to smooth down his perfectly parted and tamed hair.

“Oh, Sean,” he tsks, loosening his top two buttons of his dress shirt. “If I had a nickel for every time I heard that excuse...”

Hank enjoys this game, the one he didn’t realize they were playing at and slowly building, ever since that first day where he pressed Sean’s skinny hips against his lab table so hard he bruised them. Sean is coy--he’s always coy, smirking behind his hand and bending over unnecessarily to complete small tasks.

It might also be because Sean isn’t coy with anyone else. He’s always cool, relaxed at dinner or training, but around Hank, his jeans always ride too low and those slivers of skin are maddening.

Sean must have dug up an old Catholic school uniform, the blazer is frayed at the sleeves and the shirt is a bit tight, but then again, Sean’s shirts usually are. His hair is gelled into a perfect school boy part, red lips smirking devilishly and the freckles complete it, a light dust over his cheeks.

It’s insane the kind of things Hank wants to do to him; to burst forward and unwind his hair, to fuck him sweet and slow until he’s begging to come, to make him just as crazy as he’s making Hank. Or to prop him onto his hips and let Sean ride him until his legs give out. To set Sean on his knees and have him suck Hank off, to ruin him. Zeal collects in Hank sometimes, but Sean always finds an outlet--he always knows what they both need.

“What would you have?” Sean prompts.

“A lot of nickels,” Hank retorts dryly, deftly undoing his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves.

“Do you get a lot of degenerates in here then?” Sean swings his legs innocently from where he’s sitting on the bed.

“I get enough.”

“I bet. I mean, all the worst boys come through here at one point or another. I’m surprised you even remember my name.”

“Are you jealous, Sean? Envy is a sin, as I’m sure you know.”

“No, Father,” he answers, the smile kept mostly from his voice.

“Good. Now are you going to tell me what you were sent here for?” He punctuates his question by undoing the clasp in his belt.

“I missed your company is all, Father.” Sean’s smirk turns up.

“Sean,” Hank warns, his voice a notch lower.

“Okay, fine, I was a nasty little bugger and said some naughty words.”

“That can’t be all you did,” he pulls his belt through the loops and tosses it to the side.

“No,” Sean says, looking down at his feet with his eyelashes touching his cheeks in a gentle flutter.

“I don’t have all day, Sean.”

“I called Sister Mary Katherine a motherless cock-devouring cunt.”

Hank tsks again, removing his glasses and setting them on the nightstand by his bed. Sean watches him move, eyes flickering to his hands in a gesture that almost resembles fear. It suddenly occurs to Hank that Catholic schools practice corporal punishment and he can’t help the grin that spreads on his face.

When he looks back at Sean, the boy’s eyebrows have raised into his hairline and Hank’s terrified for a moment that with the idea that Sean hadn’t meant for it to go this far. He sets his hands on his hips and hopes he hasn’t completely misinterpreted the signals. “And how many lashings do you believe that warrants?”

Sean shrugs, nonchalantly but the smirk widens, almost as if he’s purposely breaking character. “The sisters usually give five.”

“But I am not them,” Hank muses, “How many should I give then?”

There’s a meter stick he keeps in the room for when it’s late at night and he can’t sleep. Sean knows. Sean’s been there with him, four or five in the morning, kissing his shoulder blades and asking him to get some sleep. But sometimes, Hank can’t. He draws basic geometric shapes on the walls and bleeds all the number he can out of them, calculating diagonals, trigonometric functions, and derivatives, whichever repetitive math he can use to clear his mind.

“I don’t know, sir.” Sean’s eyes stray to the meter stick, leaning against the wall where a quadrilateral has been dissected next to it.

“Turn up your palms,” Hank replies, heading for the meter stick. It’s lightweight in his hands; it feels incredible, like the more there is at stake, the more complicated the equation, the larger the rush. As if Sean is his domain and there is nowhere he cannot exist.

Sean straightens, palms turned up invitingly as Hank approaches. “Count for me.”

“Yes, Father.”

The first strike surprises them both, Hank had already committed to the swing before being hit by the idea of hurting Sean. He stops just before meeting the skin and glances at him, “Can you handle ten?”

Sean shrugs and stands to brace himself, “I suppose we will see, Father.”

He hasn’t broken character but there’s a very sincere tone in his voice, giving Hank the all clear. That’s all Hank needs and he brings the ruler up and back down with a loud smack. Sean flinches but doesn’t otherwise move. “One.”

The second strike sounds just as loud and the third quieter, because when Hank stops, there is a bright pink line of raised skin flushing darker and it catches him off guard. He watches it flush a bright red and before he knows what has come over him, he strikes Sean twice more. The skin of his palms is raised and angry and Hank can’t help but watch the blood flow.

It was mesmerizing, a brilliant color and the speed of his body, his reactions and breaths. Hank tossed the meter stick aside and took Sean’s palms into his hands, blowing gently to soothe the skin. Sean’s eyes fluttered closed, pink tongue poking out to wet his lips. “Do they hurt?” Hank asks.

Sean’s eyes snap open, his back ramrod straight. “Nothing I can’t handle, Father.”

“Are you sure? Your hands are swelling.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t strike my palms anymore then, Father.”

“Oh?” Hank raises an eyebrow. “Drop your trousers then, if you’re so keen for it.”

Sean’s eyes flicker uncertainly at Hank, expecting a cue, but he doesn’t move. Hank grabs at Sean’s belt buckle, undoing it deftly. “Trousers, Sean.”

Sean steps out of his shoes and socks, then slides off his trousers and folds them neatly at the foot of the bed. His briefs are a subdued navy blue, form fitting and Hank fingers the hem, sliding a finger underneath to touch his skin. “These, too. Then lean over the bed for me.”

“Yes, Father.” Sean replies, eyes darkening.

His thighs are thing and freckled, parting deliciously as Sean sets his weight on his forearms on the bed. He even lifts his shirt tail, exposing the dip of his back and Hank is fighting every instinct to drop the game and just fuck the boy. He sets down the meter stick and strokes Sean’s bare cheeks affectionately.

“What number did we leave off on, Sean?”

“Five, sir.”

“Five,” Hank replies reverently and lifts his hand for the sixth strike. Sean whines when the blow lands, a mewl of sorts, just barely audible. The seventh and eighth are in quick succession, each louder than the last and Hank is starting to feel the rush of blood in his palm. His palm print is just starting to rise on Sean’s ass, white skin striped red. “Eight.”

Hank places his hand over the welts, gently adding pressure. “Does that hurt?” he asks again.

Sean’s back is rising and falling quickly, “No, sir, it’s just a bit sensitive.”

“Sensitive?” Hank blows over the welts, close enough to kiss the heated skin.

He straightens and begins again, landing the last two blows heavily and loudly—he can’t wait anymore. He watches the blood rise sweet and bright into a welt the shape of his palm and traces the shape gently, Sean hissing at his touch. His skin is hot, like Hank has burned him there, branded Sean with his palm print. “You look hot, Sean, remove the rest of your clothes.”

Sean straightens to slide his jacket and his shirt off, letting them pool at his feet before he bends over again. “Good boy,” Hank pets the small of his back, now bare and stretched in a downward slope. “Now reach across the bed and get the lube for me.”

Sean glances back over his shoulder, eyelashes fluttering, before reaching up, lifting one knee on to the bed and crawling forward, exposing himself completely for Hank, tempting him. He returns with a small bottle, grinning innocently. “Here you are, Father,” before stretching himself back into his previous position, bent over the bed.

Hank coats his fingers and works one into Sean, watching the flush expand over his shoulder blades. “There you are, I know you’re a good boy, look at you, you take it so well, don’t you Sean? You’re hungry for it aren’t you?”

Sean whimpers, “Yes, Father, more, please,” his hips arch up into Hank’s hand, breath hitched.

Hank works him on one finger, enjoying the heat of Sean’s body and the muscle wound tight around him, eager to take more. The palm print welt glows darker, gorgeous in contrast of Hank’s skin. In the same breath, Hank leans down, pressing his mouth to the hot flesh in a gentle kiss, and allows Hank another finger, sliding in wet with little resistance. Sean is hot everywhere, moaning at the second digit and dropping his head onto the mattress.

Hank drops to his knees, pressing a trail of kisses from the welt to where his fingers are sliding in and out to work Sean open. The lube is sliding down onto his thighs and slapping against his skin wetly. Hank licks there, scissoring his hand to lick inside between his fingers and reach that perfect heat inside Sean’s body. Sean tightens reflexively and then relaxes, groaning, “Oh fuck, oh, please, Hank, yes.”

Hank stills, “Sorry, what did you say?”

Sean’s back is flushed a bright pink, across his neck and shoulders and the tips of his ears. “I—Father, please, please don’t stop.”

“Don’t stop, huh?” Hank mutters, more to himself than Sean. He leans forward again and tongues around Sean’s hole, the muscle flexing and fluttering underneath his tongue. “You like that Sean?”

“Yeah, yes, please,” his hips buck into Hank’s mouth as he removes his fingers and shoves his tongue in as far in as he can, licking at Sean’s heat and moaning low and filthy for the vibrations to go through Sean’s body. He must feel it, Sean’s moans heavily, “Fuck.”

Hank removes his mouth, wiping lube off with the back of his hand and standing. “Why, what an excellent idea, Sean. Lay on the bed.”

Sean scrambles up into the bed, resting his shoulders on the pillows. The lecherous grin from before has been erased and he arches his back and lifts his hips, though Hank figures it must be because the welts are still fresh.

Hank stands at the foot of the bed, unbuttoning his shirt and watching Sean flex his fingers in a fist around the sheet. “Sean,” Hank says slowly, “Be a good boy and keep yourself open for me. I know you must be tightening already.”

Sean’s knees fall open swiftly, he runs his fingers between the lube that has dripped between his thighs. The angle is awkward but Hank can see the exact moment were two of Sean’s fingers slide right past the muscle. He parts his mouth in a perfect circle, moaning quietly in hitched gasps. “H—H—“

Hank pauses where he’s removing his jeans with unwarranted slow precision. Sean is twisting his fingers deep as they’ll go, breathing heavily with his chest flushed. Where his fingers disappear into his hole, his hand is flexing as though he’s trying desperately not t touch himself more than he’s allowed to. “You’re such a good boy, Sean. I always knew you were a good boy.”

Hank sheds his clothes quickly, climbing onto the bed slowly to loom over Sean. Sean’s eyes flick from Hank’s face to his chest to his cock, flushed a deep red and demanding his attention. Sean licks his lips almost subconsciously but he knows better than to make a move towards Hank, “Tha—Thank you, Father.”

“That’s enough now, Sean.” Hank settles over him slowly lowering all his weight to pin Sean beneath him. He props his elbows as Sean arches into him, desperate for more contact and slides a hand around the back of his neck to hold him firmly still. “That’s enough of that. Call me what I really am,” his mouth breathes hot pressure over Sean’s ear, tongue flicking out to lick the shell.

Sean doesn’t even miss a beat, “Daddy.”

He’s totally breathless, his wrist still sliding in and out of hole, hips pushing down to fuck himself on his fingers.

“Good boy,” Hank rewards and uses his free hand to still the movement of Sean’s wrist. He removes Sean’s hand and replaces his own. He fucks Sean with it and as he builds into a fast paced rhythm, Sean’s thighs fall farther and farther apart, back coming off the bed. “Please, Daddy, please fuck me.”

Hank thrusts his fingers inside Sean, who is hot and tight but not as wound up as before. Sean took his lashings like a good boy and he hasn’t yet touched himself and he said, "please." Hank closes his mouth high on Sean’s neck, biting down on sweat-sheened skin. Sean moans and bucks again but settles as Hank gnaws and gnaws. When he pulls back, there is a bruise forming. He sucks it harder to make it darker and it’s beautiful—he can’t help himself.

“Please, Daddy, I need it, ah, ah,” he gasps as Hank brushes his prostate and his body lights up.

“Need what, Sean?”

“I need you, ah, I need you to fuck me.”

“Well, you have been such a good boy,” Hank reasons, reaching for the lube.

He kneels again, slicking himself and watching Sean’s hungry eyes follow his hands. Sean himself is a vision, freckles over his cheeks, flushed bright red and hands clutching at the sheet to stop himself from touching his cock. He’s got precome spread shiny at his belly and sweat on his chest but his hair is still coiffed, Catholic school boy perfect. Hank doesn’t even have the audacity to be ashamed of how much it turns him on.

They both groan when Hank pushes past the first ring of muscle and they still, breathing heavily or they’ll both come right then. Hank rests his head on Sean’s shoulder, breathing slowly and Sean fists his hands in the sheets, unwillingly tight.

“Fuck, daddy.”

A beat passes with Hank trying to catch his breath and Sean trying to keep himself from rocking up and rubbing off against Hank’s stomach. Hank grabs Sean’s thigh and pulls it up high to wrap around his waist and says, “Ready, Sean.”

“Yes, yeah,” Sean bites his lip and tightens up when Hank pushes all the way in. He reaches down and swipes at where Sean is stretched open to take him and groans contently. “Oh, Sean,” he says, biting and kissing at his jaw, “Can you feel me, Sean? You’re so tight, so perfect, tell me how it feels Sean,” he snaps his hips fluidly.

“Daddy,” Sean whines, hands fisted in the sheets and pulling senselessly. “Pleases, more, please, Daddy.”

Hank hikes Sean’s thigh higher and palms at his ass, pulling him open wider so he can watch himself drive in. He slides out nearly the entire length before slamming back in and thrusting rapidly from there. Sean goes wild beneath him, hips writhing down to fuck himself on Hank’s dick. “You are allowed to use your hands, Sean. You’ve been such a good boy for me.”

Permission granted, Sean’s hands rake down Hank’s back, hugging his shoulders and using the weight to drive his hips down, trying to drive himself further on Hank’s cock. Head thrown back with his cheeks flushed and coiffed hairs on his head displacing themselves one by one, Sean tightens around Hank, bodies arching to meet rapidly. “Daddy,” he growls, forcing the words, “I’m going to—I need to—“

“It’s alright, my perfect boy, go ahead. Come.”

Hank presses his weight down so Sean doesn’t have to arch to rub off on his chest. He drives into Sean, hips slapping louder than ever, in beat with the headboard against the wall. Sean’s pants quicken into helpless noises, body bent and twisted to take everything—he’s so full, and flushed and Hank is everywhere on him, lips and teeth, bruises and sweat and come, god, he’s going to—before his entire body tightens and he splashes hot come between their chests.

His muscles loosen immediately thereafter and Hank slows his beat down to let Sean breathe, grinding slow and heavy down on him. Sean’s eyes open with a blissful haze and he runs a hand through his hair, mussing it coyly.

“Hank,” he says quietly.

“Yes, my love?”

“I want you to come on me,” his eyes flare enthusiastically again. “All over me.”

Hank can’t scramble fast enough, sitting back on his heels and releasing Sean’s thigh to loom over him. He pulls out as gently as he can, and takes himself in hand over his boy. Sean swipes at his lips again, pink tongue leaving them shiny. Hank closes his fist on his own cock and tugs impatiently, biting his lips to keep from groaning too loudly.

Sean’s hands stroke his thighs encouragingly, and his palms are cold and sweaty, they feel brilliant on Hank’s too-hot skin. Sean bites his own lip, “Please, daddy.”

Hank doesn’t exactly remember coming. He feels the white wash of his own orgasm, he feels the heat and need, Sean’s hands, his pliant body, his eyes watching desperately and aching, expectant with want. Sean wants so much and Hank can only give and give.

He comes on Sean’s pale chest, one hand grabbing onto his hair while he rides the last of the orgasm in shudders. Sean just smirks and smiles and takes it all for Hank. He’s such a good boy.

The world slides back into focus so slowly—before he knows it, Sean eases him off and flips them over, nipping at Hank’s lips with practiced ease. “That was… that was unbelievable.”

Hank smiles wanly, “It was a team effort. How do you feel.”

Sean shrugs, “Fine. Amazing, actually.”

“Really? I didn’t hurt you at all?”

“You didn’t hit that hard, babe,” he smiles encouragingly.

Hank soothes his hands down Sean’s back, pulling him in for a short kiss, “How about a shower, then? We both need one.”

“A shower’s good,” Sean agrees, “when my legs work again. Give me a minute or two.”

Sean rests his head on Hank’s chest, breathing slow like he might fall asleep instead of listening to Hank’s advice. “Hey, Sean?”

“Hmm,” he murmurs, sounding disinterested.

“You know that—you—I—I mean, I love you, you know that, right? Like, I know we haven’t been together long and I’m not always great at the whole, uh, emotion thing, but—”

“Hank, stop, of course I know. I love you, too,” he says, placing a chaste kiss on Hank’s nearest rib bone and rolling his eyes affectionately.

“Oh. So. I—you know I’ll love you regardless—not because of—not—I don’t love you because you do things like this for me. You didn’t have to do that.” Hank’s words hardly make sense even to him now, but at least Sean gets the message. He props himself up on an elbow and raises his eyebrows at Hank.

“Hank, babe, I know,” he says it like Hank might be slow on the uptake and sometimes Hank is. Slow, that is. He’s glad Sean recognizes that.

He’s comfortable with Sean, and he’s powerful and confident and happy, unlike so many other people. “You’re amazing.”

“I knew that too,” Sean mumbles sleepily, resting his head again.

Hank smiles, “Don’t fall asleep, I’m not done kissing you.”


End file.
